From The Top
by turbomagnus
Summary: Sometimes, things go wrong. Sometimes, you have to keep doing it until you get it right. Sometimes, you just have to go back to the beginning and start over. When he should have died, Commander Charles Tucker III found himself back at the beginning. Series reboot.
1. 01 : Soft Reset

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 26 April.

Disclaimer: Star Trek Enterprise and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios, and are used by myself for entertainment purposes without permission or intent to profit.

* * *

-o0O0o-

"From The Top"  
'Soft Reset'  
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

-o0O0o-

* * *

"Only cheaters prosper." - Maxim Thirty-One, 'The Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries, "Schlock Mercenary".

* * *

-o0o-

Commander Charles Tucker III, United Earth Starfleet, had expected a bright light, maybe angels singing - but he could also make a good arguement for wailing and gnashing of teeth. What he'd never expected was to wake up in his own bed, in his own apartment... Sometime before the launch of _Enterprise_. He knew it wasn't a dream, because if he was dreaming he'd be dreaming of T'Pol. It was real. It had to be, because Natalie was laying next to him and that had ended six months into the first mission. If it was real, he was alive. If he was alive, he was in the past. If he was in the past...

There are two simultanous schools of thought involving finding the solution for a problem; one refers to Archimedes' discovery of water displacement and involves running wet and naked through town shouting 'Eureka'; the other is somewhat more subtle and involves a twentieth century scientist and philosopher's observation that most discoveries consist of finding things that persist despite the fact that all evidence says they should not and are usually marked by the statement of something being 'weird' or 'funny'. Trip had neither reaction as his brain caught up with and overtook the facts of the situation, but he did have to suppress the urge to let out an old-fashioned 'Rebel Yell' like his great-grandfather had taught him to make while growing up.

'If I'm in the past, I can change things,' Trip thought, looking up to his ceiling, 'I can't do it alone, though, that's for sure. I need someone I can trust, someone I can convince to trust me, and probably most importantly, someone with enough umph to help me from keeping things turning out like they did.'

'Jon's out, Human-Vulcan relations is too sore a subject with him; and while Mal might believe me, he doesn't know me yet and I don't trust Harris,' Trip rattled off in his mind, 'Phlox, Hoshi and even T'Pol are out too...'

Suddenly, a pair of names came to the engineer and he began to consider them, 'Definitely good at keeping a secret for a long time, I know some things I shouldn't which should help me prove myself to them... and they've got plenty of umph between them. I think I've got my allies... I just hope I don't get that 'turtle soup' comment thrown back in my face...'

Trip carefully moved the cover off and slid around so that he could get out of bed, causing the woman on the other side of the bed to stir.

"Mm... Trip?"

Trip turned his head and looked at her, "Sorry, Natalie, I've got to head in. I just figured out how to fix a big problem we're facing."

It wasn't technically a lie, the Xindi and Romulan wars were problems, so were the Augments - human and Klingon, the suborned Vulcan High Command and everything else _Enterprise _had encountered over ten years; and he had figured out how to, well, maybe not 'fix' them, but at least make some of them easier to deal with.

"Mm... 'kay... be back soon?"

"Probably not," Trip admitted as he began pulling clothes on, "It's liable to be an all-day thing, maybe longer."

"Mm... too bad..."

"Yeah," he answered half-heartedly, "Too bad."

'I'm gonna have to end this and soon,' Trip thought to himself, 'My heart and mind's just not in it now, no matter what some other body parts think of it. Well, at least I won't be getting 'Dear John'd' again...'

-o0o-

* * *

United Earth Starfleet Command  
San Francisco, United States of America,  
North American Continent.

Despite the hour, Admiral Maxwell Forrest, Chief of Starfleet Operations, was still in his office hard at work. The launch of Earth's first _NX_-class Warp Five ship was less than a year away, despite the intrusions of the Vulcan High Command into the_ NX_-Project, and the ship was still unfinished and uncrewed. The launch was less than a year away and the ship's captain was still unchosen; the Vulcans favored Gardner who was by-the-book and methodical much like they were, there was one faction in Starfleet that thought command of the _NX_ ship should go to Duvall since he was the one to break the Warp Three barrier, others - Forrest himself included - countered that Robinson or Archer should be made Captain since Duvall would never have broke Warp Three if they hadn't proven the problem to be the intermix formula rather than the warp engine, some even proposed finding another officer entirely to take the position as a 'compromise' candidate - though most of them, ironically enough, couldn't agree on who that candidate should be.

Forrest groaned and put his elbows on his desk and his face in both hands, "I know Doctor Cochrane used to say that the future would be a darker place without First Contact, but sometimes I really wonder if it would've been that bad..."

A quick short tone and a longer one sounded from the intercom panel built into Forrest's desk, forcing him back to reality from his thoughts to press the button, "Forrest here."

"Admiral," the voice of the Ensign serving as his Yeoman in the outer office came over the intercom, "Commander Tucker wishes to speak with you. I informed him you had said no interruptions, but he claims it's urgent."

"Ensign, no interruptions means no interruptions," Forrest replied sharply, "No matter how urgent it is, if the planet's not under attack, it's not urgent enough to interrupt me right now."

"Figured you might say that, Adm'al," Tucker's voice cut in, "But also figured you probably wouldn't want Ensign Bond here knowing things about the _NX _above her pay-grade and all."

'Another problem,' Forrest mentally sighed, "Get in here, Commander."

Forrest released the intercom button, schooled his face into a standard 'Admiral awaiting report from subordinate' expression and waited. He only had to wait long enough for Tucker to enter the office and the door to shut behind him.

The Admiral frowned when Tucker didn't come to attention or salute, "Have you forgotten something, Commander?"

"No, sir," Tucker switched from his casual 'country-boy' tone that he used to keep people underestimating him to a more formal mode of speech, "I just didn't think rank and protocol were involved in an off-the-record discussion."

Forrest's eyes narrowed, "What makes you think this is an 'off-the-record' meeting, Tucker? I don't normally meet with officers in the dead of night at Starfleet Command, especially not without keeping records and definitely not when I'm not the one calling the meeting."

"Which means you sometimes do meet with officers in the dead of night here at Command," Tucker picked apart what the Admiral had just said, "It's just not normal procedure."

"Give me one damn good reason I shouldn't boot you right out that door and onto some warp-one patrol cutter, Tucker," Forrest growled.

"Because you 'especially' don't want records of a meeting where someone brings up a conspiracy to get Starfleet out from under Vulcan 'oversight', because those records might get out to the Admiralty, Earth-Gov and the Vulcan High Command and put you and the other conspirators in deep," Tucker gave his reason.

Forrest sighed, ever since he and Soval had begun working to work around the current relationship between Earth and Vulcan, this had been one of his greatest concerns; someone finding out and blackmailing them, "And what do you want out of this, then?"

"I agree with you and the Ambassador; Vulcan needs an ally, not a puppet and Earth needs a guide, not a leash. What do I want?" Tucker laid it out for Forrest, "I want in."


	2. 02 : Verifying Files

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 21 May.

Sometimes, you just have to keep doing it until you get it right.

Disclaimer: Star Trek Enterprise and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios, and are used by myself for entertainment purposes without permission or intent to profit.

* * *

-o0O0o-

"From The Top"  
'Verifying Files'  
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

-o0O0o-

* * *

The door to Admiral Forrest's office opened and Ensign Bond looked up from her desk to see Commander Tucker walk out.

"Is your meeting finished, Commander?" Bond asked.

"It's in recess, Yeoman," Admiral Forrest answered as he followed Tucker out, "And since we're planning to finish it over a bottle of Old Number Seven to grease the brain cells, you can go head and head home for the night."

Tucker grinned at the fact that, when the older officer so chose, Maxwell D. Forrest could do the 'good ole boy' routine as well as Tucker himself; he'd learned last time that Forrest could be anyone he thought could get the job done from stern commanding officer to sincerely concerned mentor and surrogate father-figure - though this time one of the objectives was to make sure that one part Forrest didn't end up playing was martyr to interspecies-cooperation.

Forrest looked at Tucker and gave a sharp nod, "With me, Commander."

"Aye, sir," Tucker responded and followed as Forrest started heading out of Starfleet Command.

Bond looked after Tucker and Forrest, waiting until she was sure they were gone before pulling out her communicator and activating it on a non-standard channel, "Operative 47 to Central."

"47, Central," a digitally distorted voice responded.

"Admiral Forrest leaving Command with Commander Tucker, Engineers, after unscheduled meeting, time oh-three-forty-five," Bond informed Central.

"Meeting purpose?" Central queried.

Bond shook her head even though she knew Central couldn't see the action over the voice-only communicator, "Unknown."

"Acknowledged, 47," Central confirmed, "We'll look into it. Central out."

-o0o-

* * *

"Nice place," Tucker remarked as he and Forrest reached Forrest's apartment overlooking San Francisco Bay, "Being Starfleet Chief of Operations must pay well."

"It compensates for the paperwork," Forrest remarked, finding his keycard to unlock his front door.

"I got plenty as Ch-Eng of _Enterprise_," Tucker shook his head, "I don't even want to imagine how much you must get."

"Assuming that such a position has a level of paperwork comparable to an ambassador's," a voice joined it as its owner approached them, "Then one might state that one's imagination could not accurately envision the amount."

"You got here quick," Forrest remarked as the Vulcan Ambassador joined them

"Your communication left little doubt as to the immediate requirement of my presence," Soval answered.

"That's Vulcan for 'You didn't exactly give me a choice in the matter'," Tucker quipped, causing Soval to raise an eyebrow.

"Indeed," the ambassador agreed while Forrest finished unlocking the door.

"Gentlemen," Forrest observed, "I suggest we continue this discussion inside."

-o0o-

* * *

"Two tumblers of Old Number Seven," Forrest remarked as he sat the drinks on the coffee table now that he and Tucker had finished catching Soval up on the information which the Commander possessed, "And one mug of green tea with ginseng and honey."

"Your story is difficult to believe," Soval addressed Tucker.

"But not impossible?"

"Despite the years that have passed, I recall your explanation of the differences between 'difficult' and 'impossible', Commander Tucker," Soval said simply, "You are aware of too many factors which are not public knowledge to deny the truthfulness of what you've said."

"We'll need to accelerate the construction schedule for the _NX-01_," Forrest remarked, "Not enough to attract attention, but enough that we won't be sending you out there without some bite for the rest of the galaxy to think about before they try anything."

"Indeed," Soval agreed, "And I will attempt to open a line of communication with the Syrannites. While we are as-yet not in a position to prevent the actions of V'Las' administration, we can attempt to limit the loss of life that results from it."

"The ripple effect's gonna be the big damn problem," Tucker reminded them both, "The more things we go trying to change now, the sooner the information we have ain't gonna be worth a lick'a good, remember?"

"The events of the Suliban/Klingon incident cannot be altered as they happen beyond our sphere of influence, also the current state of affairs in the Delphic Expanse and the creation of the Xindi weapon, V'Las already holds the position of High Command Administrator," Soval held his hands out wide, "These things we cannot change."

"You left out Terra Prime," Forrest added with disgust in his voice, even though he had been dead by that time previously, the idea that such a group could exist on Earth and do what they did turned his stomach.

"The sentiment has existed since our races first encountered one another," Soval pointed out, "Captain Archer is among those that hold certain pro-human attitudes - though his own seem to be directed specifically towards my people. The key factor in the existance of Terra Prime is the Xindi attack; prevent or alter the attack and the creation of Terra Prime is prevented or altered."

"Getting _Columbia _built and 'wet' will do a world of good, too," Tucker added, "Maybe help take some of the weight off _Enterprise_'s shoulders if we're not the only one showing the flag."

"Agreed," Forrest nodded, "Speaking of addition _NX_-class ships, Tucker..."

Tucker picked up his tumbler and looked at the Tennessee whisky in it, "I don't know... They might still be out there, they might not; without knowing what we'll do in the Expanse, we can't know if they're out there."

"We'll keep our eyes and ears open, Tucker," Forrest told him, "Even if they're in a unique situation, they're still _de facto_ Starfleet, we don't abandon our own. If we don't hear anything before you end up heading out that way..."

"Yeah," Tucker sighed before taking a sip of whiskey.


	3. 03 : Security Prompt

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 18 June.

In the immortal words of Samuel L. Clemens... "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR."

Sometimes, you just have to keep doing it until you get it right.

Disclaimer: Star Trek Enterprise and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios, and are used by myself for entertainment purposes without permission or intent to profit.

* * *

-o0O0o-

"From The Top"  
'Security Prompt'  
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

-o0O0o-

* * *

Apartment of Commander Charles Tucker III,  
San Francisco, California,  
United States, planet Earth, Sol system.  
Three months to launch of _NX-01 Enterprise_.

Trip looked at the empty tumbler in his hand and reached for the half-full bottle sitting on his coffee table. Despite what some people said, it wasn't the anticipation that was the problem, it really was the arrival. He'd known, _he'd known_ that he'd end up seeing his friends again sooner or later and they wouldn't remember any of the things they'd all gone through together, but knowing it didn't help when he'd run into Soval and his entourage leaving Starfleet Command - the Ambassador himself, Diplomatic Attache Tos... and Security Attache T'Pol.

It had been a double-whammy for Trip to face; Vulcan longitivity meant they didn't age much even in ten years, so the Secuity Attache looked just like the Starfleet Commander he'd seen last only hours before he'd died and this whole crazy mess started... only none of the history, good and bad, was there between them. That was the other blow, the last time he'd seen T'Pol look at him with that mixture of cold distance and aloof disdain had been shortly after Elisabeth's death, baby Elisabeth's death, when she had retreated so far into Vulcan logic and emotional supression to escape the pain that things between them never recovered, even until the day he'd died.

For the last few months, ever since he had woke up here instead of dead, he'd focused on the work; readying _Enterprise_ for launch, planning with Forrest and Soval how to keep some of the worst things from happening again, trying to convince Lizzie to move away from Florida - just in case; keeping himself distracted from thinking about his past, the future he was trying to change, focusing on just being an engineer with a problem instead of being Marty McFly in a new Back To The Future remake... as if anyone could ever beat the 2018 version with Tom Welling... Trip snorted as he poured more whisky into his tumbler, he'd probably had too much, he always started making jokes like that when he did, but at the moment he just couldn't care.

"You shouldn't drink so much," A voice observed from the shadows of Trip's apartment, "Alcoholism is a disqualifying offense to serving on a ship."

Trip threw the tumbler at the sound of the voice and barely missed hitting one of the people he'd much rather have never had to seen in this life, the glass smashing against the wall and staining it with the former contents.

"Good evening, Commander Tucker," the voice continued as the speaker stepped out where Trip could see them, "My name is Harris and I have a proposition for you."

"Not interested," Trip answered, taking a drink straight from the whisky bottle now that he had lost his glass.

"I'm surprised at you, Commander," Harris walked over and took the whisky bottle from Trip, "According to your record, you have a reputation for looking out for Earth's best interests without concerning yourself with things like inter-species diplomacy and Starfleet regulations. You did assist then-Commanders Archer and Robinson in their theft of the _NX-Beta_ prototype, did you not?"

"If you're thinking I did it because I didn't want the Vulcans telling Earth what to do, you're only half-right," Trip stood up and looked Harris in the eyes, "An' half-right means half-wrong, too. I helped Jon and A.G. 'cause I knew I was right about the engine and the intermix ratios, not for some damn human supremacy kick."

"You misunderstand, Commander," Harris sat the whisky bottle back down on Trip's coffee table, "It's not a matter of human supremacy. The organization I represent couldn't honestly care less about the affairs and state of any other species as long as they don't conflict with the well-being of Earth. What we do, we do to keep Earth safe."

"'Those who give up freedom for safety shall have neither'," Trip retorted, "It's a quote, look it up."

Harris looked at Trip with a mixture of amusement and disagreement, "Infringing on freedom is not one of my organizations' intents, Commander."

"Sure it is," Trip snorted, "You're so busy protecting everyone and everything, you're infringing on their freedom to fail, fall... that."

"You're drunk, Commander," Harris observed.

"And you're a... you're something," Trip shot back, "But tomorrow, I'll be sober."

Harris wasn't prepared for it when Trip suddenly grabbed and smashed the whisky bottle and swung the broken bottle up to his neck.

"Excessive force, could be," Trip hissed, "Then again, if World War III did any good, it's that it brought back the Castle Defense. The second you entered my apartment without permission, I could use lethal force to defend myself... hell, I don't even have to call the cops. I can just take you home and dump you in some Florida swamp for the gators to deal with the body.

Harris tried not to show that he was concerned by the closeness of the broken bottle, "If you do that, my organization will come looking for me."

Trip laughed coldly, "You overestimate your worth to them. You can always be replaced by some young gun ensign fresh out of the Academy with their head still ringing with words like 'duty' and 'honor', willing to do whatever it takes for the good of Earth. Some idealistic fool you can flatter into doing what you want..."

With the hand not holding the broken bottle, Trip shoved Harris backwards, causing the other man to stumble to maintain his footing, "Get outta my house, Harris."

Harris looked at Trip in disappointment and a hint of anger as he pressed a button on what at first glance appeared to be a wristwatch, "This isn't over, Commander Tucker."

The shimmering light that enveloped Harris told Trip that he was being beamed away by his 'organization' and the Southerner waited until he was gone before making a comment.

"No, no, it ain't... yet, anyways..."

-o0O0o-

* * *

Author's Note: THAT, ladies and gentlebeings, is how you drop a TNG: "Pegasus" reference into ENT. Appropriate, considering that non-canonically, Pressman and the 'Pegasus Incident' were supposedly connected to Thirty-One. Certainly far better than that farce we got for a 'finale'...

Oh, and if Tom Welling (best known as Clark Kent on "Smallville") does star in a Back To The Future remake in 2018... I swear, I was just randoming picking out a year and an actor...


	4. 04 : Startup

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 7 August.

In the immortal words of Samuel L. Clemens... "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR."

Sometimes, you just have to keep doing it until you get it right... and we've just hit "Broken Bow".

Disclaimer: Star Trek Enterprise and all associated characters and situations are the property of CBS studios, and are used by myself for entertainment purposes without permission or intent to profit.

* * *

-o0O0o-

"From The Top"  
'Startup'  
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

-o0O0o-

* * *

Upon first look at the orbiting Spacedock facilities of the San Francisco Naval Yard, one could be forgiven for thinking of someone having gotten a little over-excited with a giant Erector set. If the Naval Yard's drydock facility looked like a somewhat over-zealous arrangement of girders and supports, a metallic hive buzzing with workbees and travel-pods, like the creation of a child who dreams of being an architect...

Then the shape at its core was the work of an artist, the blue-grey metal form of the saucer-shaped hull was like a blade designed to cut through the darkness of space at speeds that more than a century before would have been unimaginable, driven by twin nacelles and powered by the most advanced Warp Core mankind had created. Even its name spoke of glory and history...

_Enterprise_.

Of all the workbees swarming around the light-cruiser that was waiting to be freed from its moorings, the occupants of one had a deeper connection to the ship than those of any other workbee's; the ship's Captain was the son of one of the men who created the engine that powered the ship he would command, and her Chief Engineer had put more years of his life that nearly anyone would ever know into the hull and systems of _Enterprise_. In a way, it was more his ship than it would ever be the Captain's or the United Earth Starfleet's.

"Well, Trip, ol' boy, it's an unwritten law in these parts that every ship's got to have a country boy on board or it ain't gonna fly right."

Chief Engineer Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker the Third rolled his eyes at his friend and Commanding Officer, "You're makin' fun of me."

"Darn right I am, pardner," Captain Jonathan Archer smiled, completely content in the moment, "If I didn't take it out on you, I'd probably end up going ballistic in the face of some Vulcan dignitary or Admiral's aide or ship's cook or somebody else important."

"I'm the one who ramrodded construction of this boat through damn near a week ahead of schedule despite the best efforts of Starfleet an' the Vulcans to the contrary," Trip snorted, "And you're saying I'm not important?"

"Why would I say that?" Archer asked with an expression of exaggerated innocence, "After all, you're the country boy."

"Since I'm just an Engineer an' you're the Cap'n, I can't tell you to 'shut the heck up'," Trip complained, "But trust me, I would if I could..."

"Sure you can," Archer pointed out, "You just have to say 'shut the heck up'..."

"_'Sir'_!" the two men finished together, the sound of their laughter almost overwhelming in the confined space of the workbee's cabin. Eventually, the craft went silent and after a few minutes, Archer made a sad observation.

"I just wish Dad were alive to see this..."

"Everyone does, Jon. Some thing just don't come out fair; I don't think anybody in Starfleet'll ever forgive the Vulcans for their hemming an' a-hauling around stallin' us like it has," Trip replied, continuing mentally, 'Despite all the help Soval an' his bunch have gave us under the table...'

"The worst damn part is how they pretend they didn't," Archer fumed, "Always claiming they were helping us like we're too stupid to know the difference. I've been waiting thirty years for them to get off their pointy-eared asses and start helping us for real, but it hasn't happened yet. They just keep dangling carrots if we do things their way and like some horse that never learns, Starfleet lets them lead us in circles..."

Trip took a hand off the helm controls and pointed at _Enterprise_, "An' look what we still managed to pull off, ain't it beautiful?"

Archer looked out the window at the ship for a moment, then began to smile, "Ain't she? You know, Trip, with you around, I'm not sure we even need a ship's doctor."

"Trust me," Trip retorted, "First time some dang numb-nut burns himself with a plasma welder or touchs a live EPS conduit, you'll know how much we'll need a doc on board."

As if to punctuate his statement, Trip sent the workbee into a banking dive with a twist that brought them up underneath the ship's saucer, headed aft towards the nacelles.

"Assembly teams say they'll have the ventral platin' on an' done in about three days," Trip informed Archer when he noticed where the other man was looking.

"Make sure they match the color of the paint on the plating to the paint on the nacelles, will you?"

"Planning to sit on the hull an' make yourself a pin-up model?" Trip quipped, "Pose for posters, something like that?"

"Maybe," Archer accepted the teasing with good grace, "God, she _is _beautiful..."

"An' fast," Tucker added, "If I've got the tweaks I been doin' right, I'm thinkin' we'll be able to get an extra point two out of her come Thursday."

"Warp Four point seven," Archer shook his head in awe, "Neptune and back in under five minutes... Let's get a look at that lateral sensor array while we're out here."

Trip put the workbee through another series of aerospace acrobatics, causing Archer to close his eyes and clench his teeth.

"For someone's supposed to be flight-qualified," Trip took the liberty of pointing out, "You sure do act like you're scared to fly, Jon."

"I'm scared I'm going to paint the inside of this workbee with those scrambled eggs I had for breakfast if you keep it up with the fancy flying, Trip," Archer countered, "Give it a rest, huh?"

"Far be it from me to make a man what may be his last good meal," Trip answered, even though he knew better, "Pretty soon we'll all be on resequenced proteins an' wishin' for scrambled eggs."

Archer snorted, "First important personnel decision I made was the ship's cook; CIA-trained, Michelin-starred; frankly, he's too damn good for the likes of us."

"So, how did you get him to sign on?" Trip decided to ask the question that had bothered him for over a decade through two lives.

"He's always wanted to go into space, but couldn't meet some of Starfleet's requirements - Civil Corps' aren't as strict, so even if he can't enlist in Starfleet, he can still serve on the ship as a civilian specialist," Archer answered smugly.

"Him you go huntin' for an' me? You just say 'bring me that guy that made the _NX-Beta_ work," Trip groaned, "Thank God you're the Cap'n an' not the morale officer..."

"What was it Napoleon said, Trip?" Archer retorted, "'An army marches on its stomach'? Well, I'm pretty sure a ship like this will run on its stomach. Nothing against you personally."

Instead of making a response, Trip simply waited for what he knew was coming and hit the button when the workbee's com system chirped, "Orbital Six."

_"Captain Archer? Sir?"_ The voice on the other side of the com asked.

Archer mentally groaned at having been found, "Archer here, go ahead."

_"Admiral Forrest needs you at Starfleet Medical right away."_

Trip shrugged at Archer when the Captain looked at him.

"Very well," Archer informed the communications officer, "Ask him to stand by, I'm on my way."

_"Thank you, sir,"_ the comms officer acknowledged before ending the transmission.

"Wonder what it's about," Trip said idly as he nosed the workbee around towards the main Spacedock administration facility where Archer could catch a shuttle down to the planet.

"Can't be personal," Archer shrugged, "You're up here and Starfleet Medical doesn't do vet service."

"Have you considered it might be Erika?" Trip asked carefully.

"No Admiral would be calling me to Starfleet Medical over Commander Hernandez unless she was dying and it was her last request," Archer answered sharply, still angry with Starfleet over forcing the couple's seperation, "Whatever it is Forrest wants, I want to get down there and get it over with so I can get back up here while the getting's good."

"That's a lot of gettin', Cap'n."

"Yeah, so pick up the pace a little, will you, Trip?"

"Starfleet regulations state thrusters only while in Spacedock, Cap'n," Trip reminded him, "Goes for workbees and travel pods too."

"I'll take the blame for it, don't worry."

"Alright," Trip shrugged, "Here goes..."

-o0o-

* * *

A few minutes later, when the workbee skidded to a stop on its landing skids in the spacedock administration station's hanger bay, Trip smirked at his old friend, "Thank you for flyin' Tucker Aerospace an' we hope y'all enjoyed your flight."

Jon frowned at him, "Sometimes, I wonder about you, Trip..."

As the Captain worked himself out of his seat and to the workbee's hatch, Trip chuckled to himself.

That hatch had barely shut itself behind Archer before the com system crackled to life again, _"Commander Tucker?"_

Trip pressed the button, "Speakin'."

_"Message for you, Commander,"_ the Spacedock communications officer informed him.

"Go ahead an' put 'em through," Trip answered.

_"It's a text message, Commander,"_ the communications officer replied, _"A single character, 'Z'."_

Trip shook his head; sometimes, Forrest's sense of humor and interest in history made a bad combination sometimes, but it worked most of the time. If the Admiral had sent that message, then it meant that the real work was about to begin...

-o0O0o-

* * *

Author's Note, supplemental;  
Any history buffs out there that think they know what 'Z' means?


End file.
